


Heart of Darkness

by Kurenaino



Series: Negotiaton One-Offs [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Anal Sex, Awful People, Blood, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Bloodlust, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, No Romance, Nothing Good Here, One Night Stands, One-Sided Relationship, Oral Sex, Ownership, Painful Sex, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rough Sex, Serial Killers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenaino/pseuds/Kurenaino
Summary: After slowly beginning to regain the pieces of himself that had been lost while in the hands of the Negotiator, Anakin finds himself falling back under Obi-Wan's influence, only to discover that he is not the man he was when Anakin last saw him. Based on Negotiation, by Glare.





	Heart of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Negotiation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8152843) by [Glare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare). 



> I keep saying I won't write more of these, but then the epilogue just leaves SO MUCH ROOM for playing!
> 
> Welcome back, kids...
> 
> So you know how Epilogue!Anakin is so, SO different from how he is during the rest of Negotiation? I figure that in those six months, some shit must have gone down to get there. Like, some SERIOUS shit. That's right kids, we're dealing with horrible sex, murder, psychological torture and all kinds of shit in this one! Don't stick around it that ain't for you.
> 
> Once again, for Glare. I'd like to tell you to stop making be do terrible things, but let's be honest, I'd be doing them anyway.

The cycle was incomplete.

It gnawed at the back of his mind like an itch he could not scratch, deep and irritating and persistent, the unsettling restlessness within him a constant reminder of what he was missing, the need of his compulsion left unfulfilled driving him to the brink of insanity with his inability to find a seek relief. He needed to kill someone.  _He needed to kill someone_. Bloodlust raged through him, filled every inch of his body with the compulsive need for death until he could think of nothing else but thick, hot blood covering his shaking hands and the euphoric feel of relief that rushed through him as he watched the life fade from his victim's eyes. The urge within him demanded three deaths every winter, the price he had to pay to continue to appear human, to continue to hunt undiscovered in this city filled with unsuspecting victims. Only one he had given so far, and already within him, he could feel the need for the others mounting within him, even before  _it_  happened...

Now, instead of meticulously planning his next kill, Obi-Wan was alone in the woods, tired and hungry and half dead from the cold as he trudged through knee-high snow, all his clothing soaked through from wading through numerous rivers and partially frozen lakes, the chill in the air freezing him right through to his bones. More than once, he felt weariness overcome him, a soft, comforting warmth spread through his body that coaxed him to sit and rest, to allow sleep to finally take him so that he may slip away peacefully, certainly a better fate than what he would be in store for him were the police to catch him.

He had never been so far out in these woods before, so far that he couldn't see any roads or remote homes tucked quietly away from civilization, so far that he couldn't even hear the wail of the sirens from the police cars that converged on the area, the ferocious barking of the dogs on his trail, the chopping thrum of helicopters that flew overhead as part of the manhunt in search of him. He still wasn't certain how he had managed to escape the army of heavily armed police and SWAT officers that had arrived to bring him to justice, nor how he avoided the tracking dogs that had been set loose in the woods after him, though he was certain that they had lost the scent quickly after he had waded into a freezing river far back on his property on the first day of his run from justice, and by nightfall, even then, the sounds of the manhunt had become a distant hum.

Now it was ten days later, nearly two weeks since he had been exposed to the city he stalked, a monster hiding behind the civil guise of an unassuming, mild-mannered professor, and he only occasionally heard the distant sounds of helicopters that were still searching. He had somehow managed to escape, though for the life of him, he could barely remember the days and the nights he ran tirelessly through the woods. Were he to die out here, as he suspected he very well might, the police would  _never_  find his body. Despite the cold, the hunger, his extreme exhaustion and his body's cries to lay down and submit to the creeping chill of death, all he could think about was the gnawing urge inside him, the need for blood superceding his need for all else, and he pressed onward.

A week past his deadline. The cycle was incomplete.

It was worse than simply that, worse than the primal need of his urge going unfulfilled. He had been  _violated_ , his home invaded by a veritable swarm of police and investigators and forensic analysts, all of them poking around in his most private sanctuary, the cabin that had been his killing grounds for so long, the basement where he had created his masterpieces, and while Obi-Wan didn't stay long enough to witness the invasion of his privacy, he saw them every time he closed his eyes, could  _feel them_  picking apart the pieces of him within his most intimate space and linking them together to form a picture of the monster he truly was. He imagined them going through his kill room, taking his knives and saws and tools off the walls and packaging them away in boxes to be filed as evidence, crime scene investigators going over every inch for traces of blood or hair or any other DNA they could find to link him to his many victims. Anxiety and tension knotted deep inside him, driven to maddening levels by the stress of his uncompleted cycle and the blistering need for blood and death to soothe him, and all of it made worse when he thought of the police with  _his things_ , in  _his home_ , so close to his raw and exposed soul...

So close to Anakin.

 _Anakin_.

His dear,  _sweet_  Anakin, left behind so that he may have a chance to escape. The idea that even he would be taken from him, even  _he_  should be stolen away like everything else in his life was far too much for him to handle. Every single piece of him was being invaded, everything he had so carefully put in place to protect the darkness inside him stripped away until there was nothing left to hide behind, everything that composed the Negotiator on display. A part of himself couldn't help but wonder if they would come to discover what made him this way. If they would find out about the injustice that caused his poor friend Siri Tachi to take her own life. If they would find that the man who had murdered his father, Qui-Gon Jinn, had simply been let go. If they would find that his beautiful lover, Satine Kryze, had been assassinated and died clutched tightly in his arms, leaving him to be soaked in blood for the first time.

They very thought made him  _nauseous_.

And now they had Anakin, the object of his obsession, their hands all over yet another thing that belonged to him all because his sweet Dear One had told him to run, had sworn to protect him, to keep the cops away long enough to at least give him a chance to escape. No, Anakin needed to be rescued, needed to be returned to his grasp as soon as possible. Anakin  _belonged_  to him, and he would not let another be torn away from his grasp. Never,  _ever_  again. One way or another, Anakin would be returned to where he belonged.

There was nothing left to hide behind. Everyone knew what Obi-Wan Kenobi was, his face was no doubt plastered on every news channel, his name on every radio station, his crimes spreading like wildfire across the Internet. It was  _over_. The deepest parts of his soul, dissected and exposed for everyone to see, leaving him no place to hide, no way to conceal what he truly was, his mild, charismatic social facade smashed like glass upon the ground with no hope, no  _point_  of ever reassembling it. Obi-Wan imagined this day many times, as he was sure all killers did. The day he was exposed, the day the game he played come to a sudden end when he no longer had a place to hide. He had always thought he would feel panic, trapped, finally cornered with no chance of fleeing, leaving him only the option to submit, or to die trying to fight his way out.

Instead, Obi-Wan felt  _freedom_.

He couldn't help laughing as he trudged through the snow, his throat painfully sore from the cold as he grasped his arms tightly and shivered. It was... _liberating_. To finally shed the mask of civility that he had been wearing for so long, and it had been  _so long_  since this darkness had been born inside him, since he bore its weight alone and pretended he wasn't bleeding from a wound that would never heal and only grew larger with time. So much of his life had been carefully crafted, meticulously planned to keep what he was,  _who_  he was hidden so he could do what he needed to be whole, to feel like a person instead of a broken thing, to satisfy the urge he felt for blood. It was exhausting, to be forced to be this other man, revealing himself only to his victims in the moments before he killed them. And it was always  _such_  a relief to do so, even if it was only for a moment, even if he could only ever truly be himself in his basement, his kill room, standing among his knives and his tool and his victims and blood, so,  _so_  much blood...

But that was over now. Upon his discovery, the police had invaded the deepest part of him, torn away his carefully crafted disguise and broken it, revealing the deepest parts of him to  _everyone_  in the hopes of making it easier to catch him, so that he would have nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide, and it was  _such_  a relief to shed that burden. For once, for the first time since his heart was torn open, since the bloody, brutal Negotiator was born inside a young Obi-Wan Kenobi, he could be himself with no reservations and no repercussions. They all already knew, there was truly no place left to hide. So he wouldn't, not anymore. He had been set free, and he was  _never_  retreating behind a facade again. Why should he? He had suffered enough, he  _deserved_  the freedom he had been given, and he was never,  _ever_  giving it back.

Obi-Wan thought he was imagining it at first, a hallucination brought on by a crazed and dying brain, but as he stumbled closer, his knees buckling with nearly every step and threatening to send him sprawling into the snow without the strength to get up again, he  _saw it_. A road, not a large one, winding through the mountainous woods, covered with a sheet of ice and compacted snow marked with tire tracks, but a road none the less. And just across the road from him, a  _rest stop_ , a small, single-story yellow building that stretched out in a line along the road, its siding covered in snow drifts and badly worn and in need of repair. A small cabin sat apart from the line of rooms, no doubt the main office, a single light glowing through the window, and Obi-Wan felt his gut twist with need, his shaking hand reaching instinctively for the knife in his pocket, his fingers so cold and so stiff that he could barely grasp the blade.

He was in no condition to murder someone, even he could recognize that through the haze of his bloodlust, his need for survival miraculously taking precedence over the need to fulfill his urge to kill, to complete his cycle like he so badly needed to. But he was  _frozen_ , well on his way to death from the cold and almost certainly stricken with hypothermia, and he could feel weakness in his limbs, ten days of running and freezing without any food leaving him thin and starving. It took strength to murder someone, it took a strong hand to subdue a person who was fighting for their life, and despite the screaming of his incomplete cycle in his mind, he was in no position to complete it now, not when his basic needs to live were not being met. Survival came first, it  _had_  to come first. The cycle could not be complete if he was dead, or of a failed attempt to kill whoever was inside that office merely brought the cops right to him.

So he swallowed his need for blood and trudged through the snow toward the small motel, his eyes focused straight ahead to keep himself from wandering too close to the office, to keep himself from being seen and to better resist the screaming in his mind to warm himself with the blood of the people that were  _so close_. There was a single car parked outside the office, a large pickup truck that only looked to be a few years old and in good condition, but the rest of the lot was empty, the windows beside the doors dark, a safe bet that there was currently nobody occupying this out of the way location. He circled around the back of the building to see a line of small windows along the wall, smaller than the ones beside the door, but not too small for him to slip through. Taking his knife in his aching hand, he used it to pry the screen off, jammed it in the small gap in the windowsill, and after a few minutes of cursing and failed attempts, he managed to catch the locking mechanism and slide it back, allowing him a moment to lift the window open.

Hoisting himself up with strength he didn't think he currently possessed, he fell through the window and collapsed on the cheap tile of the bathroom floor. It felt warm on his face, even through the thick beard that grew over his cheeks and chin, a welcome respite from the bitter cold and the whipping winds he had no relief from for the past ten days, and he could feel his eyes drifting closed as weariness, cold, hunger and the meager periods of only quick rests he had been able to take began to overtake him. Despite his body screaming in protest from even the slightest movement, Obi-Wan managed to reach up, his white, frozen hands grasping tightly to the sink and with a struggle, he managed to pull himself up to his aching feet.

He closed the window with an angry growl when he felt a cold wind blow through it, locking it tightly and drawing the curtains as he began shedding his layers as quickly as he was able, which proved to be a difficult task, as his outermost layers were frozen completely solid. By some stroke of incredible luck, the layers closest to his skin were, for the most part, dry, and while he was deathly pale and cold to the touch and absolutely numb, nothing appeared to be frostbitten, which he had worried about briefly after the first time he waded into a river in the hopes of losing the dogs. It must not have been as cold out as he had believed, though it had certainly felt like it when he was running soaking wet through the snow and the frigid wind.

The shivering didn't stop, even after he had stripped naked, the room suddenly feeling as cold to him as it had been outside, and he slowly padded his way into the small room, his hand always upon the wall or a counter to give him support as he pulled aside the curtains on the window to be certain it was locked and sliding the bolt into the door and latching it closed, securing it so it could not be open from outside. Content in his safety for the moment, Obi-Wan found the old HVAC unit and turned up the heat as high as it could go, and slowly made his way over to the closet and pushed the doors open. With considerable effort, he grabbed hold of the spare blankets on the top shelf, threw them upon the bed, and as fast as his wearing, aching body was able, pulled back the covers and nestled beneath the heap. He slipped into unconsciousness before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Obi-Wan was unsure how much time had passed while he had been asleep, and a part of him was shocked that he had woken up at all. Opening his eyes sent spikes of pain deep inside his head, and his body was so sore he could barely move, and he silently resigned himself to staying curled up in bed, content to drift away into another dreamless sleep. The room was warm, almost oppressively so, which he found to be nothing but a comfort since he could still feel the chill of winter freezing him right down into his bones. He curled up into a tight ball, tucking his head beneath the covers when a sharp stab of pain lanced through his body. He was  _hungry_ , painfully so, and the persistent and painful contractions in his abdomen refused to let him rest any longer than he had.

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the pain and slowly pushing past it when his eyes acclimated to the light. Without the tired haze and the threat of cold, imminent death upon him, Obi-Wan felt a great deal better and found himself able to think clearly even through the overwhelming hunger and bloodlust that wracked his body and mind. Groaning as he commanded his muscles to move, he sat up in bed and allowed his eyes to adjust to the world above the covers.

Though the curtains were drawn closed, the golden light of late afternoon still filtered through, and his eyes roved about a well lit room what was less cheap than it's modest exterior would suggest. A flat plasma screen hung on the wall, a cable box and a DVD player stacked beneath it on a dark wood counter. The mattress wasn't the highest quality, though neither was it boxy, springy and uncomfortable as so many of the cheap motels he had frequented in the past. The blankets were warm and comfortable, and the carpeting on the floor was plush, clean and new, clearly recently renovated, and with a groan, Obi-Wan slid out of the bed, stumbling and nearly collapsing on the ground when his sore muscles objected to holding his body weight.

He moved over to the counter and pulled open the drawers and cabinets, his mouth immediately watering when the door beneath the television held a small, stainless steel minifridge, and Obi-Wan quickly pulled it open, sighing in satisfaction when he looked at the array of candy bars, bags of chips and nuts and little bottles of alcohol. Reaching in, he scooped up an armful of the various assortment of overpriced junk food, snatched the clicker from the counter, and threw himself on the bed, turning on the television and flipping to the local news channel as he quickly shoved half a Snickers in his mouth, a desperate, satisfied moan in he savored the first thing he had eaten in nearly two weeks.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the time and date stamp at the bottom of the screen, just past four thirty in the afternoon on the second of January. By his estimation, he had slept for three days, maybe four, and his gaze slowly drifted to the news reporters on the screen and a picture of himself prominently displayed. It was, if he did say so himself, a good picture, most likely one the university had provided, the mild mannered professor neatly groomed, his hair carefully styled, a modest, good natured smile on his lips and the spark of gentle amusement in his eyes, hardly the image of a bloody killer. It was a lie, of course, the man presented in the picture merely the mask of the Negotiator, a disguise that no longer existed, and as Obi-Wan slowly shoved a handful of chips in his mouth, his eyes focused on reporters as they covered the progression of the urgent manhunt that still gripped the people of Coruscant and rural Naboo with fear and paranoia, he scratched his beard and frowned when he felt how full it had grown, and he focused on the neat trim in the picture.

This wouldn't do  _at all_.

Leaving the television on, he stood from the bed and walked to the window, pulled aside the curtains and gazed outside. The angle afforded to him allowed a view of the office building, the parking lot currently empty and fresh tire tracks in the snow suggesting that whoever had been there was gone now. Obi-Wan wasn't worried about it. After four days and with no cops in sight despite the urgency of the hunt for him, it was a fair bet that he was, for now, safe. He looked at the television as he passed by toward the bathroom, a slight smirk on his face as images of his past victims were shown on the screen, the need for blood roiling within him as the faces of his former playmates dragged forth the memories of each kill, fresh in his mind as if he had committed them only yesterday.

The clothing that he had cast off days before was mostly dry, save for his outerwear, which he scooped up and hung on the back of the bathroom door. He removed the knife from the pocket of his discarded pants, and he stood up straight, stepped back, and examined himself in the mirror. He was an absolute mess, unkept and thin enough for his ribs to show prominently through his pale skin. His hair and his beard were both matted and dirty and overgrown, his eyes sunken with dark circles beneath them despite the rest he had gotten, the sharp look of hunger within him wild and dangerous. With a growl of irritation, he slammed the knife on the sink and turned the shower on and waited until the mirror was steamed up before getting in and standing beneath a spray that was far too hot and  _still_  didn't seem to chase away the chill in his bones.

He used the entirety of the bottles of shampoo and conditioning provided, rubbing them into his hair and his beard until it felt silky smooth and clean once again, and wore the bar of soap down to next to nothing in his attempts to wash two weeks of sweat and grime and frost from his body. Even after he had finished, he stood a long time under the steady stream, reveling in the feel of the water washing away all his weariness, all his past frustrations, the stress of the dual lives he led. He felt like a new man, despite the gnawing hunger and need worming its way through his brain until he could think of nothing else but satisfying the maddening urge. Before, he would have pushed it aside, buried it deep to keep himself safe and hidden so he could at least appear normal until he could act upon it. But now, he  _reveled_  in the feel of it, embraced the pulsing need to feel blood slide beneath his fingers as he watched someone take their last breaths.

He stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off, grabbing for one of the robes folded neatly upon the counter and slipped it on, and with a sigh, he ran his arm across the steamed glass of the mirror and carefully examined himself. His fingers running through the full beard on his cheeks, he picked up his knife and flicked it open, his thumb feeling the sharp edge before he placed the blade under his neck and slowly, carefully slid it upward across his skin, the blade raking across the auburn hair as it was cut and fell into the sink basin.

His hands were steady, and despite not having the proper tools, the knife never once nicked his skin as he shaved, wetting the blade and having to go over the same spots several times before the skin was smooth and hairless. He was careful, meticulous in his attention, the process taking long enough for the daylight to fade, leaving the other room lit only by the glow of the television. When his beard lay in a thick spread across the basin, Obi-Wan turned his attention to his hair, running his fingers through it and deciding upon the best way to cut it, which would be difficult with only a knife, even with his practiced hand. He settled on something simple, only slightly shorter than what it had been, which took some time to make certain it was even, still long enough to run his fingers through and style, and cutting off the ends had made it appear more auburn, the longer strands having picked up the hint of reddish gold from the sun.

Satisfied, Obi-Wan closed the knife and looked in the mirror, squeezing lotion on to his hands and rubbing it over his face and neck and through his hair to ruffle it. He looked to be a completely different person, much younger without the beard to obscure his sharp jaw line, and even only a slight cut to his hair left him with enough differences to the picture on the television to make most believe that they were different men. In a way, they were, he supposed. With the new image he cut, one thing that  _hadn't_  changed from his grungy appearance before were his eyes, clear and crystal blue with a wildness to them that did little to hide the predator he was, a strange and haunting sharpness to them that came with his lust for blood.

Satine had once said that his beard hid too much of his handsome face, and he saw now that she may have been right about that. He quickly snatched the provided small toothbrush and tube of toothpaste from the counter and fiercely scrubbed his teeth, rinsing his mouth throughly when he felt clean again and gave himself another cursory examination in the mirror. A slow, faintly malicious smirk curled the edge of his lips, and satisfied with the man he became, the man he no longer struggled to conceal, he shut off the lights in the bathroom and walked back into the bedroom.

He dropped back on the bed and snatched the packet of M&M's from his pile and tore the packet open with his teeth and poured half the bag into his mouth, chewing slowly as he watched the news, all of it about him, his crimes, his victims, what had been found at his cabin, and he felt a strong pull of need within him when they put up the picture of his last victim, the first of his currently unfinished cycle, a woman in the perfect image of Satine. Before he knew what he was doing, Obi-Wan was on his feet, his fingers stroking the image of her pale, perfect cheek, a desperate, hungry moan in his throat as he felt the need for blood, the urge for murder pull at the very heart of him, leaving him shaking and edgy unlike he had ever been before. Two more deaths, and his cycle remained unfulfilled,  _incomplete_...

He needed to kill someone. He needed to do it  _now_.

He made his way to the window and pulled back the curtains, the cold glass pressing against his bare cheek and his hot, heavy breath staining the clear view, but he could see the truck had returned to the parking lot. Quickly rushing back into the bathroom, Obi-Wan threw off the bathrobe and slide into his boxer briefs and pants, snatching his knife from the edge of the sink and flicking it open as he stepped out of the room, hardly noticing the chill of the winter night on his pale chest in his single-minded need for blood as he strode across the poorly lit row of motel rooms and toward the bright porch light hanging from the little cabin office.

He quickly took note of the footprints on the ground as he mounted the stairs, a single pair of large boots, from the look of it, a few sizes larger than Obi-Wan's. A large man, from the look of it, but it didn't matter. He was rested, he had eaten, and with his needs fulfilled, he could focus on sating the urge for blood that raged within him. Two more murders in the cycle. At the very least, one would be completed tonight, enough to keep him sane enough to function until he could make away with the last. With a deep, slow exhale, Obi-Wan's nerves stilled, his excitedly shaking hand held the knife steady, and he knocked upon the door, his lips parting in a savage grin when he heard the rustling behind the door.

No sooner had the door opened to reveal a large, middle aged man standing in the doorway, Obi-Wan lashed out with the knife, the blade catching the man across his throat and sending a spray of blood splattering over the killer and the walls as he stumbled backwards, his eyes wide and shocked as he reached to cover his neck. Obi-Wan slammed the door shut as he entered after him, the man stumbling and falling when he backed up against the desk by the wall, and the moment he hit the floor, Kenobi was on him, his breathing fast and ragged and his eyes wild with malice as he thrust the knife over and over again into his thick chest, each stab angled perfectly to allow the long blade to slide easily between his ribs and puncture his lungs.

Each attempt to scream for help or from pain, each futile attempt to breathe only brought blood pouring out from the holes in his neck and chest and covered his lips in a fine, red mist. When Obi-Wan knew the man was dying, when he felt the heart beneath his hands beat slower, weaker, he sat back on his victim's hips, his fingers affectionately stroking across his bloody chest and watching with soft, panted gasps and moans of satisfaction and appreciation as the man struggled to breathe, his chest contracting in short, uneven bursts, his mouth open and bloody and gaping for air, the color in his eyes quickly fading into dull, muted hues as death began to grip him.

Obi-Wan felt the immediate wash of relief within him as the hot, sticky blood ran over his hands and spurted in thick gushes from his neck and the pulsing oozing from the slits in his chest with each weakening breath. His cycle kills deserved better than this, deserved to be made into art instead of simply cut up like meat in a butcher's shop, but he didn't have the tools necessary to make a masterpiece worthy of the Negotiator. As he reveled in his euphoric haze, he cut the thick flannel shirt off the murdered man's body and slid the blade along the edge of his ribs, the skin parting and gushing thick, dark red blood that spilled to the floor and quickly seeped into Obi-Wan's pant leg.

Reaching up under the rib cage, he grabbed hold of a hard, muscular mass and pulled it out, the man's heart resting against his palm as he carefully severed the still-attached arteries and veins. It was  _hardly_  sufficient, and already he could feel the stirring of urgency deep within him, the compulsive need to reach satisfaction by taking the final life he was owed. Still riding high on bloodlust, Obi-Wan slowly took in the office, leaned over to see a hallway lead to a staircase and a small kitchen tucked in the back, heard the quite sounds of a television playing on the wall behind him. Not just an office, but a home as well, solitary and alone far, far out in the woods with nobody around to miss the lone proprietor.

With long, lazy cuts, Obi-Wan opened the man up and casually removed his organs, carelessly tossing them around the office and flicking blood and gore about the otherwise clean, white walls, each moment wallowing in the blood and the death soothing his frazzled nerves and making the cry for more seem strangely quieter. There was a satisfaction in the  _process_ , not just in the death itself, as he had come to understand over his years of experimentation, and while this body would never truly get the recognition it deserved, it was far better than nothing.

After he had finished his work, the organs removed and strewn about the bloody office, the head nearly removed with deep cuts in the neck that stopped only because the small knife did not have the power to cut through the spine, Obi-Wan stood, his legs shaky and unstable in his euphoria, and after regaining his footing when he slipped in a puddle of blood, he laid the heart upon the desk, his finger lazily running through the thick, warm liquid to spell  _Thank you for your hospitality_  upon the wooden surface.

His work completed, he could already feel the hunger begin again, the maddening urge frantic to complete a cycle far past due, and he shut his eyes tightly and groaned softly as the need filled him, not as urgent before, but he wouldn't last long before he would be unable to resist. Not that he would want to, in any case, not anymore, but he still needed patience,  _planning_ , lest he be caught, which was a distinct possibility now that he had been exposed as the Negotiator. He looked around the office, observing every detail, breathing deep the soothing scent of blood and death that hung heavy in the air, and he slowly reached out to take hold of the keys laying upon the desk. The car keys were attached to the ring, along with keys that he assumed were the master keys to the rooms of his remote hotel, and he closed his eyes, already beginning to plan his next murder when a single phrase uttered by the people on the television saw his eyes opening, wild and vicious, to stare intently at the screen.

 _Anakin Skywalker_.

He could barely breathe as he watched footage of the police dragging  _his_  Anakin out of the cabin in handcuffs, the man's face showing the obvious signs of a struggle, and Obi-Wan felt rage burn within him, the singular focus of his need to complete his cycle pushed aside in favor of fixating on the object of his obsession. Exposing him had been one thing, invading his home and dragging all his dark secrets out into the open a vile intrusion, but one that Obi-Wan was quick to dismiss. They did not belong there, did not have  _any_  right to be there, but in doing so, they had unwittingly freed him. It was an irritation, one that set him on edge, yes, but nothing more.

Knives could be replaced, new homes could be acquired, and by shedding his old identity, he had come to inhabit his new one, the one he  _truly_  was, the Negotiator free to do as he wished, so long as he was careful, so long as he wasn't caught, and he  _wouldn't_  be. It had been two weeks, a time when they were the closest they had ever been to him, a time when he was the most vulnerable, and  _still_  they could not catch him. He was too smart to be caught now.

But  _Anakin_  was different. Anakin was  _his_ , his only possession, the one thing in this world that he owned that could not be replaced. He had spent so long cultivating the boy, shaping him and molding him, working his way into his good graces. Anakin  _knew_  him, not just Obi-Wan, but the  _Negotiator_ , and  _still_  the wayward detective had allowed him in his bed, had kissed him for all he was worth, had taken his cock between his pretty lips and worshiped him with his tongue, had laid breathless and moaning beneath him and begged for more as Obi-Wan thrust deep inside him. This  _could not_  be allowed. Anakin belonged to him -  _him_! - and nobody had any right to him, not now and not ever. His precious pet would soon be by his side once again, right where he belonged, and there was  _nothing_  anyone could do to stop him.

He could delay completing his cycle for that.

With a quick look at the bloody mess that covered him, Obi-Wan sneered in disgust and strode from the room, walking quickly down the hall and taking the stairs two at a time, leaving bloody footprints behind him. He found the small, cozy bedroom quickly and immediately threw off his bloody clothing and stepped into the shower to rinse the blood off of him. He was out again quickly, not bothering to dry off as he walked back into the bedroom and pulled open drawers and closets and began rifling through the dead man's things, grinning in wicked satisfaction when he found two large hiking backpacks stuffed into the corner of the closet. He pulled them out and tossed them on the bed and immediately set to pulling clothing out of the cabinets in a search to find something that was not too objectionable.

There wasn't much, but he did eventually manage to find a pair of jeans at the bottom of one drawer that had clearly not fit the dead man for a long time and a few button up shirts that weren't hideously patterned that could be tucked in and rolled up to not appear quite so large on him. Stuffing a few other articles he found unobjectionable into one of the backpacks and quickly dressing, Obi-Wan found a comfortable, oversized coat which was reasonably classy and hid how large the other clothing was well enough. He would have to purchase new clothing soon anyway. He couldn't go rescuing Anakin from his prison dressed like  _this_.

Searching through the rest of the drawers in the room, Obi-Wan found two large hunting knives, a roll of tools, and nearly three thousand dollars in cash, which was not all that unusual for a redneck living in the woods, and he quickly stuffed that into a separate pouch of his pack. He had never  _considered_  being a career criminal before, but now that he was officially the most wanted man in Coruscant, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. If he selected his targets carefully, he could easily live off the money stolen from his victims. In addition to a very large sum of money left to him by Qui-Gon after his death which he had safely stashed away in the event of  _exactly_  this, he looked to be able to live very comfortably for a very long time. It was something to think about, in any case.

He gave the room a final, cursory glance around the room, and returned to the bloody first floor, heading straight into the kitchen and throwing open the fridge. There was virtually nothing but beer and a box of old, leftover pizza, but he was hungry enough to grab one of the hard slices and quickly eat it, slamming the fridge shut and opening the freezer to sneer in disgust at the shelves packed tight with frozen dinners. He shut that too and began pulling open drawers and cabinets, collecting the set of fine, sharp kitchen knives and putting them into the pack. When he found the pantry, he scooped out everything he found even remotely appealing, packed it away in the backpack, and slung it and the empty one over his shoulder, picking up a flat of bottled water and striding purposefully through the cabin out into the snow and placed it all down beside the pickup truck.

He walked back into the office, carefully stepping around the drying blood and scattered organs to the desk to rifle through that as well, finding another cashbox and the dead man's wallet, containing several credit cards and his identification, none of which he felt comfortable using, but he pocketed it anyway. Grabbing the keys and the box of cash, Obi-Wan left the office, locking the door behind him, and opened the truck, throwing the filled backpack and the cashbox into the passenger seat and placing the bottled water on to the floor in the back. Closing the door, he slung the empty backpack over his shoulder, and whistling softly, strolled over to the line of rooms, unlocking the first one and slipping inside.

He casually set about removing the contents of the room's minifridge and stuffing it into his backpack, taking what hygiene items he wished from the bathrooms before proceeding to the next room to repeat the process. He grabbed his coat and his dried, dirty clothing from the room he had occupied for the past few days and returned to the truck to throw the second full backpack inside, one of the small liquor bottles from the minifridge held between his lips as he swiftly drained it in the hopes that alcohol would dull the edge of his bloodlust and the itch to complete his cycle.

A final check of the motel yielded Obi-Wan the door to the supply closet, which he had overlooked before, and after stacking boxes and boxes of candy, shower products, and tiny booze bottles into the back seat of the truck, Obi-Wan was driving down the road toward Coruscant with plans to stop somewhere on the way to buy new clothing for himself, and a new collar for Anakin. It wouldn't do for his dear detective to forget who he belonged to.

Obi-Wan meant to remind him of exactly that.

* * *

The moment the hotel room door was closed and locked, Obi-Wan was upon him, Anakin's surprised gasps quickly becoming moans of desperation with the savage intensity of the hungry kiss on his lips and deep, fierce diving of his tongue within his mouth. He responded quickly to his passionate lover, felt his pants quickly growing tight with his growing erection when Obi-Wan tore the shirt off of him and threw it carelessly to the ground as he roughly shoved Anakin back, and with a gasp, he went tumbling on to the bed when his knees hit the back of the mattress. Anakin panted heavily, his eyes locked with Obi-Wan's as the killer slowly, methodically disrobed, his eyes running over the man on the bed like a starving man before a feast, and Anakin couldn't help but shiver.

There was... _something_  in those blue eyes, something Anakin had only seen on a few occasions, and each time, it  _chilled_  him, set his nerves on edge, made him feel less like a lover to Obi-Wan and more like prey. He saw this same wildness, this same edge in him during height of his cycle, when bloodlust and that unnatural hunger for death raged through him, when he had a victim in his grasp, when he stood smoking on the porch when he was drunk on the completion of his kill. But even then, it was somehow...muted, restrained, as if the wildness was kept on a leash. He had only ever seen Obi-Wan truly feral a few times. Once when he had brought Rako Hardeen back to the cabin, and once when he had Anakin restrained to his killing table in the basement, and both times, he had  _truly_  feared what Obi-Wan would do, both times, he had been left hurt or afraid of what his lover was capable of.

Those eyes had the same hunger, the same feral wildness in them now.

It was...expected, Anakin decided as he kicked off his boots, watching as Obi-Wan slowly did the same and eyeing the bulge in Kenobi's pants, and he felt desire for the man rush through him as he felt disgust with himself for being so weak.  _Of course_  Obi-Wan seemed wild, they had been separated for a month. He had  _missed_  him, that was all, was hungry for the feel of his body thrusting within his younger lover. More than that, Anakin didn't know what Obi-Wan had been through in the past month, but when they found out who he was,  _what_  he was, Obi-Wan was living in the height of his cycle, only one death to his count. He didn't know if he had somehow managed to take two more lives while on the run, but if he  _hadn't_ , then of course Obi-Wan seemed wild.

It was all in desire for  _him_ , his lover, the man he loved, the man that had taken him from his life and shaped him, made him into what he wanted...

Anakin clenched his jaw and pushed the thought, his growing unease, and his own disgust with himself deep down inside him as he slid his pants down. These were the words of other people, other people who had taken him from the safety of the cabin, who had disrupted the quiet, peaceful life he had in the cabin. Obi-Wan had never hurt him, save for the once, but he had learned from that, had felt genuine remorse, had sworn never to do so again. Obi-Wan had always cared about him, had always been mindful and respectful of his needs, his boundaries. Obi-Wan loved him.  _He loved him_...

Anakin watched Obi-Wan with a mix of fear and desire as the wild man stalked closer, his naked body a beautiful sight that made Anakin remember why he decided to leave, the dull, painful throbbing in his leg forgotten in his desire to feel the man deep within him again. He pushed himself further up the bed, unconsciously putting distance between him and Obi-Wan as his eyes roved over him to stare at the swollen, heavy cock, so engorged that the red flesh arched up toward his well defined stomach, the tip already dripping with his desire for him. He moaned softly when Obi-Wan quickly squeezed lube from a small bottle on to his palm and gave his cock a few long, slow strokes to slick himself up.

"Obi-Wan..." Anakin whimpered, shivering when the man drew closer and biting back a moan when his lover gently hushed him.

"My Anakin..." Obi-Wan said in a hushed, breathless whisper, Anakin swallowing hard and shivering at the distant monotone in the man's voice, a strange, unsettling contrast to the hard edge of possession in his eyes. "I have  _missed_  you, pet..."

Anakin wasn't given a chance to respond before Obi-Wan's hand reached out and grasped his ankle and pulled him back toward him, a sharp jerk of his leg sending Anakin flipping on to his stomach with a startled cry, and a hard, bruising hand grabbed hold of his hips and dragged him up to his knees, his back arched and his ass in the air, open and presented to the killer behind him. Anakin moved to push himself up to his elbows, swallowing hard as sudden fear coiled in his gut, and quickly found his face roughly shoved down against the bed, a strong, firm hand grabbing hold of his wrists and pinning them above his head while the iron grip on his hip kept him in place. Anakin whimpered pitifully, from fear or desire, he wasn't quite sure, and decided it was fear when he felt the wide, slick head of Obi-Wan's cock pressing against the tight ring of muscle, the man above him clearly intending to shove inside him without preparing him first, without getting him ready as he always used to.

"O-Obi-Wan..." Anakin whimpered desperately, fear and panic overtaking him and sending him quickly spiraling down into a fit of helpless hysterics when he felt Obi-Wan press hard against him, the head of his cock breeching the ring of muscle and spreading painfully to accommodate the hard length as he pushed inside of him with a ragged, possessive snarl, base and animalistic and heedless of Anakin's discomfort. Pain erupted behind his eyes, and Anakin gasped in pain, a frantic sob torn from his throat when Obi-Wan shoved the rest of his length hard within him, a deep groan of satisfaction reverberating through his chest as he bit down on the squirming Anakin's neck.

This had to stop. Anakin was in pain, and this  _had to stop_. He had always felt safe with Obi-Wan, even when the man tied him up or treated him roughly, and to a certain degree, Anakin liked a fair bit of rough sex if he felt safe. But he was  _not_  safe now, his partner either oblivious or uncaring of Anakin's pain as he withdrew slightly and set a hard, punishing pace, each thrust sending a new burst of agony through him. With a choked, strangled cry, Anakin began trying to buck him off, frantic and desperate as the last of his composure broke, his struggle becoming more panicked when Obi-Wan simply grabbed his hips harder and pressed his weight down upon him to keep him from moving.

"Obi-Wan, stop,  _please_!" Anakin begged frantically, desperately hoping that his distress would shock Kenobi back to himself as it had once before, the only other time he had ever seen Obi-Wan so oblivious to his distress. It had worked then, the man sliding off of him and giving him the distance he needed to regain control of himself. Anakin choked a sob of relief when Obi-Wan froze above him now, fully seated inside him, and Anakin could feel the man's hard, fast breathing, the contraction of his powerful muscles against his ass and lower back, the feel of his cock throbbing deep within him.

"Please..." Anakin whimpered again when Obi-Wan didn't move, not daring to move himself for fear of the movement sending more pain through him. "Stop, Obi-Wan, please stop..."

A deep, savage growl reverberated through the man above him, and instead of climbing off him, a hard, rough hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and roughly pulled his head back, his other hand wrapping tight around Anakin's neck, tight enough to turn his choked sobs into frantic wheezing as he struggled for air.

"You do  _not_  get to tell me what to do, Anakin..." Obi-Wan snarled as he bit hard on the shaking man's ear. "You are mine, you have  _always_  been mine, and you will do as I say." A hard, sharp thrust of his hips tore a pained cry out of Anakin's throat, and Kenobi groaned his pleasure in his ear. "Do I make myself  _absolutely_  clear, pet?"

It was clear, and it was  _unacceptable_. Fear quickly turned to defiance, his rational brain taking over and berating him for being so  _stupid_  to run away with this man, for being so foolishly dependent upon a man he knew was a murderer, a savage killer that had it in him to brutally dismember innocent men and women who had been stupid enough to trust him, just as  _he_  had been stupid enough to trust him. Anakin renewed his struggling, this time with the intention of throwing Obi-Wan off and running, and a swift, well-timed buck of his hips sent the killer sliding out of him with a thick, lust-hazed curse, his grip on him breaking for just a moment, and Anakin managed to push himself up to his knees.

A sharp, hard strike to the wound on his thigh sent Anakin tumbling back down on the bed with a pained cry, and before he could move again, Obi-Wan had flipped him on his back, pinned his wrists above his head once again, and brought the back of his hand down hard to strike Anakin across the face. The struggling man froze, the fight drained out of him in an instant when pain erupted across his face, when he felt the slow trickle of blood run down his cheek from where the impact had split the fair skin open, when he looked fearfully up into the wild, hungry eyes of the serial killer above him. A single, horrifying string of thoughts echoed through his mind, over and over again. Obi-Wan had never intentionally hurt Anakin before. Obi-Wan's cycle may very well have been left incomplete. The bloodlust shone bright in the killer's eyes, and Anakin's life may very well be in danger. Anakin laid very still, too afraid to move and further anger the man. He felt like one of Obi-Wan's helpless victims, and recognized that this was a sight that many of them may have seen in their final moments. He didn't want to die, not like this, not like one of Obi-Wan's victims...

So he laid still, not daring to breathe and simply waited, hoping the killer couldn't hear the pounding of his heart.

"You came with me, Anakin," Obi-Wan growled dangerously. "You left them all behind to be with me What are you going to do, try and escape? Run from this place and...do what? Return to police custody? You certainly cannot return again to  _Bail Organa_  and the comfortable life he provided for you," he spat, his hand tightening on Anakin's wrists. "Not after he watched you choose  _me_. No, all that awaits for you outside of my care is a life of chains, rotting away somewhere and waiting for death while someone tries to  _fix you_." Anakin whimpered desperately when Obi-Wan grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his predatory eyes, a cruel smirk upon his lips as he loomed over the shaking man.

"But you aren't broken, are you, Anakin?" Obi-Wan whispered, his thumb dragging over Anakin's lower lip and tearing a shuddering cry out of the terrified man. "This is where you belong, because I make you whole." He sat back, admiring the trembling boy beneath him, and ran his fingers across the blood on Anakin's cheek and shoved his fingers into the gagging man's mouth. "You made your choice. And now you're going to take it,  _slut_ , because  _this_   _is what you wanted_." Obi-Wan regarded the wide-eyed, fearful man beneath him, so pretty, so  _beautiful_ , and all his. Now and forever,  _his_. "Spread your legs for me, Anakin," Obi-Wan commanded. "Show me you want this, or I will  _take it anyway_."

With a soft, pained whimper, Anakin shifted beneath Obi-Wan, drew his knees up and parted his legs as he was told, shutting his eyes tight and pressing his face against the covers so his lover couldn't see him crying. A sweet, gentle kiss was pressed to Anakin's bleeding cheek, and the tenderness of it almost made him openly sob.

"My good boy, Anakin..." Obi-Wan whispered in his ear as he lined himself up and slid inside him once again, seated fully within him and moving with long, deep thrusts. "My sweet, beautiful pet, always so good for me..."

Anakin swallowed the tatters of his pride and endured, ashamed of himself when his body began reacting to his tormentor's more gentle pace in response to his submission, despite the fact he was still in pain, despite the fact he didn't want this, not like  _this_...

Obi-Wan was simply... _desperate_ , hadn't seen him in so long, was facing terrible stress for being exposed, for his cycle being left incomplete, for a million other reasons. Things would be better in the morning when he had acclimated, when his tension was released. They  _would_  be better. In the morning, Obi-Wan would be back to his old self, would be sweet and gentle and attentive as he had been in their final months at the cabin before everything fell apart.

Anakin had to believe that.

* * *

Anakin stood under the steady spray of a too hot shower the next day, his eyes fixed on the drain as he watched the water disappear into the black hole. He hadn't struggled the rest of the night, allowing Obi-Wan to roughly claim him again and again and not daring to say a word against it. If he submitted, Obi-Wan was almost gentle,  _almost_  kind, though the hard, wild edge remained in his eyes, strange and unsettling and practically glowing with the bloodlust that coursed like poison within him. He was afraid of being hurt again, didn't want to test the man's anger, not while he was still so uncertain, not before he understood  _exactly_  what sort of creature Obi-Wan had become when his crimes had been exposed.

His fingers ran slowly over the deep, painful depressions of hard bites and broken skin, wincing as he touched the tender areas and gingerly touching the bruised and broken skin on his cheek from where he had been struck for his disobedience. It was...almost unthinkable, though the more Anakin thought on it, the more he understood what a fool he had been for believing that Obi-Wan would never hurt him.  _Of course_  his serial killer boyfriend would harm him. The fact that he hadn't done so before was, quite frankly, nothing short of a miracle.

He laughed bitterly, his shoulders shaking and quickly turning to silent sobs when he thought of what old, kind Shaak Ti would have said if she had seen him now. Probably the same as anyone else with a brain would have said. That he was a fool to stay. That he should have taken the car and the dogs and left Obi-Wan for good in that cabin with poor, unfortunate Rako Hardeen and fled back to Coruscant to report him. He should have run while he had the chance, but he  _couldn't_. He loved Obi-Wan.  _He loved him_.

Things were rough now, but Obi-Wan would be himself again in no time. He almost had been last night after he had finally finished, when he lay tight in Obi-Wan's arms as the purring, satisfied man slid his fingers deep inside his abused hole, cooing gently to him as he withdrew cum-slicked fingers and pressed them past Anakin's reddened lips. What he had seen in Obi-Wan last night, the cold, hard, hungry edge in him was the product of  _stress_ , but now that Anakin was back in his life, it would go away. He'd be back to normal for the rest of the year until his cycle inevitably struck him again with the onset of winter, but they could deal with that  _together_. If only he could just-

The hotel door opened swiftly and slammed closed, loud banging in the halls and the scuffling of feet almost drowning out the muffled screams and cries for help., before a loud, sickening crack of something hard slamming against the wall made the sounds of struggle cease. Anakin quickly shut off the water, crouching in the tub and listening intently to the sound of soft groans and sobs, to the soft, barefoot padding of a long, confident stride and the sound of a sharp blade being drawn against the heavy mesh of a tool wrap. He knew what was going to happen. He had known last night that Obi-Wan's cycle could not have been completed, knew from the hard hand and the wild look in his eyes. And still, he couldn't help himself from creeping to the door, taking a deep breath, and as silently as he was able, he opened the door and peeked around the edge.

His vantage point didn't allow him a look at the bed, but he could see the shadows cast large upon the wall, could see the thin thing weakly struggling, her arms reaching up to try and push the man straddling her away, only to end up pawing uselessly at his chest. The larger shadow above her gently stroked at her face, the sounds of his soft, unsettling cooing mingling with her begging whimpers making a chill run up Anakin's spine, and though he desperately wished to duck into the safety of the bathroom and cover his ears and shut his eyes, he couldn't look away when the shadow raised his knife and plunged it down into the body beneath him.

Anakin's hands tightened on the doorway, hie eyes wide as he watched the knife plunge down over and over before the man hunched over the still body on the bed, the air suddenly thick and heavy with the smell of blood. Shaking, Anakin crawled back into the bathroom and retched into the toilet, sobbing silently as he was once again faced with the blackened soul of the man he had stupidly fallen in love with. After all this time, after so many murders, it still shook him, the small part of who he had been violently objecting to his passive acceptance of this hunter of men free among the unsuspecting innocent.

When the sickening sound of the knife cutting flesh and raking across bone had ceased, Anakin steeled himself and bravely ventured out of the bathroom, creeping close to the ground as if trying to hide himself, like he was catching a glimpse of something he wasn't allowed to see, something intimate and deeply personal that he was uncertain this Obi-Wan would allow him to see. And while he was unwilling to push the boundaries much, too afraid of what Obi-Wan may do to him if handled incorrectly, he  _had_  to see, he needed to know.

He nearly vomited again when he saw the body, Obi-Wan hunched over her and sawing through tendons and bone as he removed one of her arms at the shoulder, her torso already a wide open empty cavity, the organs laying in a heap at the foot of the bed. Anakin froze, unable to draw closer, a sharp, shuddering gasp pulled unwillingly from his throat, and Obi-Wan's intense focus was broken, his head quickly whipping around to look over his shoulder at the intruder, and Anakin  _shivered_. The hungry, wild look in his eyes, that hard, sharp edge was the  _exact_  same expression that Obi-Wan had last night when he was driving hard inside Anakin, the same look even afterwards when he held Anakin in his arms and told him how good he was, how  _sweet_  for submitting.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't realized it before. Perhaps he had been unwilling to see it, or was simply that deep in denial, or maybe Obi-Wan  _had_  changed, but from where Anakin now stood, there was  _no_  difference between the Obi-Wan he fell in love with, and the Negotiator that had terrorized Coruscant with his brutal murders for years. Something had changed inside his gentle lover, something dark and dangerous that he didn't yet fully understand, but what was clear to him now was that Obi-Wan was locking much more of himself down in that basement than Anakin had thought. Exposing what happened within that basement had done something to Obi-Wan, or...perhaps he simply wasn't the man Anakin had thought. Not a good man struggling to cope with deep, dark urges, but a  _very_  bad man that was kind and gentle when it was convenient to be so.

With his crimes exposed, what reason did he have to hide?

And with Anakin now stuck here with him, his choice made in a moment when he thought his Obi-Wan was the same man as before...what reason did Obi-Wan have to be kind?

"Anakin..." Obi-Wan said, his voice deep and heavily accented with the husky, lazy drawl of relief and satisfaction. He raised a bloody hand and gestured for Anakin to come closer. "Come here, sweet thing..."

Swallowing hard and swaying on unsteady legs, Anakin averted his eyes from the gruesome scene on the bed and inched closer, looking up only once to see that the bloody Negotiator hadn't moved from his seat straddling his victim. Bowing his head and clenching his jaw, Anakin pressed forward, unwilling to test what would happen if he disobeyed him, afraid of being hurt or worse, treading softly around this man he didn't yet understand. This wasn't so terrible. He had once sucked Obi-Wan's dick after he had murdered a man. This was no different.

Except for all the blood, the gore, the dead body, the untempered wildness in Obi-Wan's eyes...

He was sobbing by the time he reached Obi-Wan's side, shaking hard and almost flinching when a bloody hand reached out and gently grabbed his chin, tilted his head up, and hungry lips kissed him as if they meant to devour him. He had half a mind to struggle, to fight him when Obi-Wan slid off the body and guided him toward the couch, but he found he lacked the strength to resist when the bloody man pushed him down, and he obediently laid back on the soft cushions, his already naked body laid out appealingly for the Negotiator as he shed his bloody clothing, his pale skin already flushed with arousal and stained with blood, his cock already achingly hard between his legs. After only taking the briefest moment to prepare his submissive pet, he sank deep inside him, his pace rough, but his words gentle and sweet enough to coax Anakin to arousal despite the pain and the blood of the murdered girl that smeared upon his skin with each of his lover's touches.

It wasn't long before the gentle praises and the blood-slicked hand stroking his cock made Anakin moan and shudder in climax, the sight of the defiled and bloody boy sending Obi-Wan tumbling after him not long after with a few hard thrusts and teeth latching on to the former detective's neck. Coming down from the bliss of orgasm and the euphoria of his finally completed cycle with heavy, breathy pants, Obi-Wan pressed his lips to the pliant Anakin's before his gaze drifted over to the body on the bed, the blood staining the sheets, the pile of organs upon the floor topped with a neatly placed heard, and he frowned.

"We need to leave," he said absently, planting another deep, hungry kiss to Anakin's lips before he slid out of him and walked away from the couch. "I'm going to shower before we go. You should as well." When Anakin didn't answer or move, Obi-Wan stopped and slowly turned around, his eyes furious and focused, and Anakin could feel the intensity of his stare and shivered, making eye contact with the man and holding his breath in fear. "Anakin..." Obi-Wan growled dangerously. "That  _wasn't_  a suggestion."

With only the slightest whimper of resignation, Anakin extricated himself from the couch, his eyes fixed on the floor before him to avoid looking at the bloody mess, and he shuffled after Obi-Wan. Even with the cycle complete, even with his complete and utter submission, the wild, feral edge never left Kenobi's eyes.

* * *

Anakin bolted for the bathroom the moment he heard the shuffling outside the door and the fumbling with the lock. After the fourth victim Obi-Wan had taken outside his cycle, young Skywalker was finally realizing that the Negotiator would not be stopping anytime soon. The victims would continue, the murders would continue, and while these deaths weren't accompanied with the blistering need and the stress that his winter cycle brought him, his temper remained, triggered at the slightest show of defiance. For the past month, they had been on the move, bouncing from place to place, further and further away from Coruscant, settling down in hotel rooms for the duration of their stay until Obi-Wan would bring someone back with him one evening, murder them, and they would be on their way.

In that time, Anakin had begun to slowly test Obi-Wan's new boundaries, the limits of his patience, the things he could and could not get away with, and the answer became distressingly apparent very early on. Anakin could get away with  _nothing_. Any show of defiance, any struggle against what Obi-Wan wanted, no matter how slight, at even the  _slightest_  hint of reluctance on Anakin's part was unacceptable to the controlling Negotiator, and he was quickly met with physical violence and the snarled reminder that Anakin  _belonged_  to him, and like all good pets, he  _would_  obey him.

But in the times Anakin  _did_  obey, all the times he submitted and turned himself over to the every demand of the killer he couldn't help but love, Obi-Wan was almost sweet,  _almost_  his old self, never gentle, no, but praising and petting him for being so good, so  _obedient_ , for bringing him so much pleasure, for accepting his place  _just_  like a good pet should. Anakin lived for these times, craved Obi-Wan's attention, his affections, the gentle hand he stroked him with when he had taken him especially hard, desired nothing more than his sweet praises. Submitting to Obi-Wan was simply easier, especially so when the alternative meant uncompromising pain until Anakin rolled over and yielded anyway. The pain, the fear, the threat to his safety, the cruel, harsh words...simply wasn't worth it. Not when the end result was the same. Not when it always ended in Anakin's submission to the unmovable, merciless demands of the Negotiator.

He held his breath when the door opened, not to the sounds of struggle, but to soft whispers and deep chuckling and breathless moans, and Anakin felt every fiber of him fill with tension and revulsion and jealous anger. This  _wasn't_  unusual. Anakin knew how Obi-Wan took his victims, knew his lover was as charming and seductive as anyone ever was when he wished to be, but by the time they got to the hotel room and the door was closed and bolted behind them, the victim sensed something was unmistakably  _wrong_  and the struggle began, if it hadn't already started before. Anakin would usually lock himself away in the bathroom, his hands held over his ears to drown out the screams of brutal murder and the gentle words of praise and reassurance uttered by the blood-drunk Obi-Wan.

But  _this_  time, there was no such struggle, no desperate screams, no helpless sobbing or useless begging. Only the soft, wet sound of passionate kisses and gasps of pleasure and moans of arousal and wordless, breathless whispers as zippers were undone, belts unfastened, and clothing falling to rumpled heaps upon the floor. When the feminine moans intensified and the quiet, possessive growl of his lover became gasps of pleasure and grunts of effort, the bed creaking as the headboard rhythmically knocked against the wall, Anakin couldn't take it any longer. Afraid of what he might see and afraid of incurring Obi-Wan's considerable wrath, he opened the bathroom door as quietly as he was able and crept out into the hall, keeping his back pressed against the wall and peeking around the corner into the bedroom.

Obi-Wan lay naked on top of the bed, thrusting languid and deep within a beautiful moaning blond, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips and her long fingered hands stroking and grasping at the powerful muscles of his back. The pace was lazy, almost gentle as they moaned together in sloppy, breathy kisses and nips and bites to pale necks, and Anakin  _couldn't breathe_  as he felt himself burn. He had never seen this woman, and yet had seen her a hundred times before. Obi-Wan always preferred thin, beautiful blond women when he did take women, a thing Anakin had understood as coming from an almost compulsive desire to recapture just a moment with the lover that was stolen from him. Like Satine, these women all ended up dead as well.

But  _this_  was unbearable, standing here and watching as  _his_  Obi-Wan took his pleasure from another, the act itself, the gentle pace, the enraptured moans so personal, so  _intimate_  that Anakin could hardly stand it. When Obi-Wan's hips jerked erratically with a strangled groan in his throat that Anakin  _knew_  marked the swift approach of his oncoming orgasm, the insulted, jealous man peeled himself from the wall and darted back into the bathroom to sit silently in the tub and cringe as he listened to the escalating cries of sexual release. He listened intently to the silence that followed, waiting for the sound of the knife stabbing into soft flesh and the desperate gasps as the victim struggled to try and hold on to their life as it slipped away and he  _hated_  himself for wishing that on this poor, clueless girl.

But it never came. The silence was only broken by a soft, shuddering sigh, quickly followed again by the sounds of rising passion, and Anakin  _knew_  that Obi-Wan was taking her again. He felt himself fill with self loathing as he sat in the tub and listened to the sounds of his dangerous lover thrusting deep inside a person that wasn't him, and he couldn't help but wonder  _why_. Where had he been failing to satisfy Obi-Wan that the man should feel the need to turn to another? In what way was he lacking? Was this some kind of punishment for some slight Anakin had unknowingly struck against him? Or was Obi-Wan simply...bored? Disinterested from having unrestricted access to Anakin at all times, the novelty of having him near finally wearing off.

 _No_. Anakin felt himself bristle with anger, his muscles tightening with rage and fear and uncertainty. No, he had done  _everything_  Obi-Wan had asked of him, had been good and obedient, had submitted to his every whim. He was  _exactly_  what Obi-Wan had wanted him to be, and if the killer had grown bored with him, than it was his own damn fault. Anakin was  _exactly_  as Obi-Wan had made him. He had no right to do this, none at all, not when he would snap his fingers and Anakin would, either willingly or reluctantly, do  _exactly_  as he said.

Anakin wasn't certain how long he sat in the tub fighting with himself, a part of him urging him to get up and leave this place and the poisonous, corrupting Obi-Wan for good, while the other half of himself meekly told him to stay right where he was, to close his ears and pretend nothing was happening, to wait for Obi-Wan to come get him, just as he wanted him to do, to kiss away the memories and tell him he had been  _so good for him_. But eventually, after the crescendo of moans and the rhythmic pounding of the headboard against the wall began once again for he didn't know how many time, Anakin found it within himself to climb out of the tub, leave the bathroom, and instead of heading toward the door as intended, found himself once again peeking around the corner to stare at Obi-Wan, the girl in his arms and laying on their sides as he took her from behind.

Anakin didn't know how long he stood watching, a deep flush of shame on his face as he failed to avert his eyes when the woman tiredly moaned in orgasm, as Obi-Wan held her close and pushed in deep as he came inside her, the two of them looking tired and sated, the woman nestling his Obi-Wan's arms as the man reached behind to the bedside table, grabbed the sharpened knife sitting upon it, held his victim close and slowly slid the blade between her ribs and straight into her heart. She gasped softly, her blue eyes widening more in shock than in pain, and she began to struggle against her killer's grasp, her movements only lodging the knife deeper and causing the blade to cut jaggedly through her. Obi-Wan held her close, stroking her hair and kissing her neck and whispering soothingly into her ear until she had gone still and they both were covered in blood.

Obi-Wan held the body, his hands stroking the blood slicked skin as he came down from the pleasured haze of orgasm and the drunken high of his bloodlust, planting a final kiss to the woman's cheek before he untangled himself and slid off the bed. He scooped his discarded pants off the ground and pulled them on with a yawn, his knife held loosely in his hand as he wiped off the blade, and Anakin couldn't take it anymore.

"Having fun?" Anakin spat bitterly, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned against the wall, a voice in his brain screaming fearfully for him to stop, to think about what he was doing before he said something he would come to regret, but he ignored it, too furious to think of anything else but his partner's casual infidelity. There were some things even he wouldn't stand for, just  _one thing_  that could be just his, just one thing he could have control over. If his body wasn't enough for Obi-Wan, what was even the  _point_  of him?

"I am, actually," Obi-Wan drawled, his voice thick and heavy as it always was after sex and murder. He reached his hand out, his eyelids half lowered seductively, and beaconed for him, and Anakin nearly ran to him, nearly latched on and begged for him to show him he was somehow special, but the stubborn, defiant side of him held fast. "Come here, Dear One."

" _No_." The satisfied, bloodthirsty haze vanished in a flash, leaving Obi-Wan with the dangerous, wild look in his eyes that Anakin had come to so badly fear, but instead of cowering, he drew up tall, the final rebellion of his old self, and though his body couldn't keep from shaking, he held his ground.

"No..." Obi-Wan slowly repeated in a soft, deliberate whisper that sent a chill up Anakin's spine, and finally, his shoulders hunched, his head bowing slightly when he realized how stupid he had been, but it was too late to turn back now.

"I-I just..." Anakin began, stuttering over a tongue that suddenly felt too thick. "You can't just...j-just  _fuck_  other people! That's what I'm here for, that's  _my job_!" Emboldened when Obi-Wan said nothing, Anakin drew up tall again and took a step forward. "I won't let you do it! No more, Obi-Wan! Not again, not  _ever_  again!" Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan began to softly laugh, unnerving and unsettling and enough for Anakin to take a step back and swallow hard, his eyes wide and focused on the frightening predator.

"Oh, dear,  _sweet_  Anakin..." Obi-Wan drawled, taking a slow step forward. "I do believe you've forgotten who belongs to who in this relationship." For just a moment, Anakin looked away, his eyes drawn to the still, pale girl upon the white sheets stained with blood, and before he could even see him move, Obi-Wan was beside him, his hand grabbing a fistful of Anakin's hair as he slammed his foot into the back of his legs, sending him tumbling to the ground with a cry and tears leaking from his eyes when the hard grip kept him held up by his golden curls.

Whimpered apologies and pitiful pleading for this to stop tumbled from his mouth when Obi-Wan pulled him by the hair and dragged him across the ground until he was roughly pulled to his feet and shoved face down on the bed. Gasping for air and eventually managing to turn his head when Obi-Wan released his grip, new panic filled Anakin as he stared up at the pale, bloody back of Obi-Wan's latest victim, his skin crawling as he felt her cold feet brush against his arm, and he began to openly sob. He was going to die here. It was his last mistake, he should have kept his  _stupid_  mouth shut, like he had wanted to. Things were good before, things were safe when he was meek and timid and supplicant to the will of the Negotiator. But he wasn't safe now. He wasn't safe  _at all_.

"You do  _not_  get to dictate what I can and cannot do!" Obi-Wan snapped as he mounted Anakin, sitting firmly on the struggling, panicking man's lower back and using his knees to pin his wrists at his side. "I  _own you_ , Anakin, do you understand? You are my property, you  _belong to me_! In no way do you have any control over me!"

"O-Obi-Wan,  _please_ , I-I didn't mean-"

"If I wished it, Anakin..." Obi-Wan hissed as he grabbed hold of his hair again and pulled his head up, his chest arching off the bed and the terrifying man above him biting down hard on the shell of his ear. "I would fuck  _every_  victim I take, every person that shows even the  _slightest_  interest because it is  _my right_. And if I wished it, you would sit and watch me do it because  _I demanded it of you._ " Anakin stopped his thrashing when Obi-Wan pulled up the collar of his shirt and used his knife to effortlessly cut the shirt away, exposing his back to the sudden cold in the air.

"I believe you need a  _reminder_..." Obi-Wan drawled, his fingers ghosting over the tense muscles in Anakin's back, leaving the pale flesh to rise up in small bumps in his wake. "You belong to me, Anakin, and when I'm through with you, you will  _never_  forget it..."

A panicked, strangled cry was torn from Anakin's throat and he involuntarily renewed his struggling when he felt the cold, sharp point of Obi-Wan's knife press into his skin just above his shoulder. A strong, firm hand pressed between his shoulder blades to hold him down hard against the bed, and he felt Obi-Wan bend over him, his hot, heavy breaths against his neck.

"Now, now, my love..." Obi-Wan said thickly, the knife twisting against Anakin's skin and sending fresh pain lancing through his body. "Hold still...it would be a  _tragedy_  were my knife to slip deeper than intended." Anakin did as he was told, to afraid to move, too afraid to breathe, and he shut his eyes tight when Obi-Wan kissed his back. "Good boy..."

Anakin could feel himself breaking as the knife dragged through his skin, as he felt hot blood gushing down his back from the careful lines Obi-Wan made, and he knew that he would  _never_  defy Obi-Wan again. He couldn't, not again, not after this. He'd be good, and he'd obey.

Just like Obi-Wan wanted.

* * *

Anakin walked down the street toward the hotel, his head bowed and his hands clasped tight in front of him to hide the bulge in his pants, his body rebelling against him and reacting to the touch of the hand slipped past the waist of his pants, a long digit slipped inside him and moving with a steady rhythm. It  _disgusted_  him, made his skin crawl, but he  _had_  to do this. Obi-Wan told him to. They went to the club together that evening so the killer could find someone to kill, while Anakin drank heavily, a thing that Obi-Wan quietly encouraged.

He liked it when Anakin was drunk, always enjoyed dragging him back to the hotel and watching as the inebriated man debased himself, moaning wantonly and begging to be taken, slipping his fingers deep inside himself as he greedily sucked on Obi-Wan's cock. It was easy for him to be a slut for Obi-Wan when the alcohol made him forget his fear, the underlying apprehension of what could happen if his lover was displeased, dulled the pain of his rough handling.

When Obi-Wan pulled him aside and pointed out the tall, strong man at the bar and told Anakin to seduce him back to the hotel room, panic gripped him, but he bowed his head anyway and obeyed. He had never been an active part of Obi-Wan's killing habits, and while we was afraid of doing this, afraid of failing him, afraid of being part of luring an innocent man to a brutal death, a part of his was  _thrilled_  to be part of Obi-Wan's life like this. He so badly wanted to please him, and if this was what would please Obi-Wan, he would do it without question. He was a good boy, and he obeyed.

The moment he led the man into the room, his large hands pressed down on his shoulders, and Anakin obediently sank down to his knees, moaning softly when the man unzipped his pants and pulled out his half hard cock, his fingers twining in Anakin's hair and guiding him toward it. Anakin looked up at him, swallowed hard, and was uncertain of what to do, how far to go, how to  _keep_  this man here. He didn't want to touch him, reviled by the very thought, but he also didn't want to fail Obi-Wan, so swallowing his pride, he wrapped his fingers around the thick base of the man's cock and slowly began stroking.

No sooner had he begun to lean forward was the man looming above him suddenly yanked backwards, clawing at the garrote wire around his neck as he was pulled to the ground, the vicious, snarling Obi-Wan crossing the wire and pulling it tight, the man's legs thrashing as he struggled to free himself. It didn't take long before the struggling man's movements slowed, strangled as he was pulled backwards and dragged up on to the bed, and when he had stopped moving, Obi-Wan swiftly restrained his arms and legs to the bed's steel posts. Breathing heavily from the effort and the mounting anticipation, Obi-Wan shot Anakin a hard,  _fierce_  look, hard and wild in all the ways that made him cower, and he began shaking, too afraid to get up from his knees.

"What was  _that_ ," Obi-Wan growled darkly, slowly stalking toward Anakin, and he quickly shut his eyes and began whimpering, a low whine torn from his throat when Obi-Wan's fingers wrapped tightly in his hair. "Do you like what you see?" he growled, forcing Anakin to look at the unconscious man on the bed. "Do you  _want_  him, Anakin?"

"N-no, sir!" Anakin gasped, quickly looking up at Obi-Wan and frantically pawing at his stomach, a deep groan in his chest when Obi-Wan's bare foot deliberately rubbed against the bulge in his pants.

"Ready to suck his cock  _and_  already hard..." Obi-Wan sneered. "You couldn't wait, you little slut?"

"P-please, Obi-Wan..." Anakin stuttered, frantically fumbling to undo Obi-Wan's belt in the vain, desperate hope to placate him before he was hurt. "I-I only tried to do as you said, I-I only wanted to do as you ordered!  _Please_!" He whimpered, his eyes falling to the ground for a moment as he pulled down Obi-Wan's zipper and pulled out his cock, already partially erect before he had even touched it, and with a moan of desperation, he wrapped his lips around the hardening length and swiped his tongue over the head before he took as much of it into his mouth as he was able. The hand in his hair tightened, a feral grown in Obi-Wan's chest as he pulled him closer, and suddenly released him. Grabbing Anakin's chin, he forced the boy to look up, his cock sliding free from his red stained lips.

"You are to touch  _nobody_ , Anakin," Obi-Wan firmly demanded. "Only me. You are mine, understand? I will not share that with  _anybody._ "

"A-all yours, Obi-Wan..." Anakin gasped breathlessly, a warmth spreading through his chest as he gazed up into the hard, wild eyes, the hand returning to his head to gently stroke his hair.

"Good boy, Anakin..." Obi-Wan gently praised. His eyes drifting to the bed to glance at his victim on the bed before his attention returned to the beautiful sight on his knees before him. "Go on then, my beautiful slut. Finish what you started."

With a desperate moan, Anakin quickly slid his mouth around Obi-Wan's cock again, reveling in the feel of the firm hand in his hair, the stinging pain from the name carved in his back in an elegant hand, and in the knowledge that he pleased the man enough to be kept. He belonged to Obi-Wan,  _pleased_  him, and that was all he wanted.


End file.
